The Silver Tint of Clouds of Doubt, 1/?
by Shippers United
Summary: The first part of an H/HR fanfic, a collaborative effort between Alicia Spinnet, Narrissa Patters, and Margret Ferran. Please, read and review!


**Title:** The Silver Tint of Clouds of Doubt, 1/?  
  
**Authors:** Shippers United (Alicia Spinnet, Margret Ferran, and Narrissa Patters)  
  
**Date Sent Out:** 8/16/00  
  
**Rating:** PG-13  
  
**Disclaimer:** See bottom of document.  
  
**Authors' Notes:** See bottom of document.  
  
  
  
_The Silver Tint of Clouds of Doubt, Part 1:_

**Someone the First**:

* 

"Are you as nervous as I am?"  
  
Harry Potter glanced up from his homework to see Hermione Granger peering over her own work at him, her eyes wide and worried.  
  
Harry gave her a half-smile. "Do I have any room for nervousness about this? With all these people counting on me?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "I guess not." She fell silent and Harry resumed his reading before she burst out with, "Oh, Harry, I'm so scared I can't do my work!"  
  
He laughed. "You? Not able to do your work?" He pulled a look of mock surprise. "I can't believe it."  
  
So caught up in her apprehension, Hermione didn't notice this comment and continued expressing her feelings about the certain situation they would soon be in. "Harry, I'm serious. Not only is he supposedly coming here, but people are counting on us, the famous trio, to save the day!"  
  
"Correction," said Harry absently, gazing in his book, "the entire wizarding world is counting on me, the famous Harry Potter, to save the entire wizarding world…" He paused at Hermione's wide eyes. "I'm afraid I'm all worried-out."  
  
She was about to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. Another silence fell over them, one that Harry found gentle and comfortable while Hermione found it pushing her on the brink of spontaneous combustion. She wove her fingers together, then pulled them apart and began chewing her nails, all the while her eyes darting back and forth across the library.  
  
Harry sighed, closed his book, and looked up at Hermione over the glasses that had slid down to the tip of his nose, giving him an air of being older than he really was. He reached across the table and grabbed her hands, smothering them with her own in an attempt to both ease her apprehension and to save her nails and teeth. "Stop it. Don't worry. I'm 'in-killable,' don't you know that already? We all are. I'm the valiant knight, they never die."  
  
Though the fact that the great Harry Potter was holding her hands threw her off her worries for a few seconds, they came rushing back at this statement. "Don't be so confident. That's always those knights' downfalls."

  
**Alicia Spinnet:**

Harry glanced down at their clasped hands. "True," he admitted, "too true. But you're forgetting something."  
  
Hermione raised one eyebrow, peering at him quizzically. "And what's that? Five years of Divinations classes under the _renowned_ Sibyl Trelawney? Or could it possibly be the vision of a mole?"  
  
Harry rolled his eyes. "Quite amusing. What's next, an audition for _Whose Line Is It Anyway?_"  
  
"No, I was thinking more along the lines of _Saturday Night Live_. Get to travel to America and all that rot." Hermione shook her head. "So, do tell. What intrinsic element does the famous Harry Potter have that has evaded King Arthur, Luke Skywalker-"  
  
Harry snorted. "Luke Skywalker? What shining example were you going to use next, the Terminator? Hermione, I think _someone's_ been using contraband communications mediums."  
  
"Harry, I think that _someone's_ behaving insouciantly to avoid further serious discussion of this topic."  
  
"You're right." Harry let out a long sigh, and rested his forehead on their joined hands. "You're absolutely right. I've been pushed so far beyond the point of nervousness that I can't do anything _but_ joke about it. There's no state for me to progress into, and if I calm down in ever the slightest-"  
  
"-you'd be sitting on your bed with a large box of Chocolate Frogs, forcing Ron to make clandestine trips to Hogsmeade for the purpose of smuggling butterbeer," Hermione finished. Gently, she pushed Harry's chin up so that she faced him directly. "And since I really do not have the nerve to deal with a cocoa-shoveling best friend, I will acquiesce on this point. Be as nonchalant as you want."  
  
A silence fell as Hermione's steady flow of words ebbed. Not the uncomfortable pauses that come of not knowing what to say, but the cozy, familiar placate in which two parties know each other well enough that words are unnecessary; or, at least, until one has formulated a sufficient statement. If anyone had possessed the gumption the enter the library (and why would they? It was a Hogsmeade weekend, after all), they would have immediately exited, having come upon a feeling of intrusion.   
  
The scene was heartbreakingly idyllic; teenage boy and girl holding hands over book, the air surrounding them thick with all sorts of emotions. The dark, murky soup that was mutual fear, nervousness, and uncertainty was blended with the easygoing, smooth, almost liquid sense of complete and total trust. The heady, peppery topping of not-so-platonic love garnished the concoction of emotions naturally.  
  
Finally, Harry cleared his throat.  
  
"Herm?"  
  
"Yes?" The response was soft and wistful.  
  
"Do you want to know what it is that makes me so sure of this whole situation?" His bright green eyes connected with her wide chocolate ones.  
  
Hermione squeezed is hand. "I know what it is, Harry. You've got friends like Ron and myself."  
  
"I thought you would."  
  
"I'm Head Girl for a reason, you do know." Hermione's mouth curved into a half-smile, as it always did when she delivered something resembling a wisecrack.  
  
Harry grinned. "Of course. We all know what that is-- that you've simply _got_ to be sleeping with somebody."  
  
"Harry, do you like having thumbs? Because the removal-" she squeezed his hands once again, a mischievous smile playing around the corners of her mouth- "could easily be arranged. And just because you got the position of Head Boy by offering coital services to the faculty doesn't mean that I did."  
  
"Hermione, now you're the one that's being insouciant about this. Not to mention absurd, vulgar, and downright nutty." Harry shook his head, suppressing a chuckle. "If you don't want to have the whole of Gryffindor Tower asking about your passing Potions grade, a rarity in the House, I highly recommend that you keep your comments to yourself."  
  
"You sound like my mother," Hermione retorted.  
  
"I surely hope you're joking, because that was the most exaggerated parody of overbearing matronal instinct I could muster."  
  
"Unfortunately, I wasn't." Hermione looked down to where their fingers intertwined. "For example, if she were to walk in on something as innocent as this, I would be shipped off to an all-girls academy, and you would have a rather nasty wound from a run-in with a dental drill."  
  
"Imagine what'll happen when you begin dating for real. Krum doesn't count. I distinctly recall you keeping _that_ a secret." Harry closed his eyes, tired after a long day. "I pity the fool who dates you."  
  
"Oh, that's nice," Hermione replied in a diluted-acid sort of way.  
  
"You know what I mean." Harry smiled. "Come on, let's get out of here. I'm not too keen on running the risk of strangulation by dental floss."  
  
*****

Someone the First:

After having retired to the common room, empty but for a group of rowdy second years in a corner opposite of the merrily crackling fire, Harry once again propped open his book and immediately began reading. This led Hermione to ponder his sudden passion for schoolwork while glaring across the room at the laughing second years.  
  
_Really. Did they have to be so loud?_ Hermione thought huffily, turning her back to them to face Harry.

  
Still annoyed with the second years and now finding the sight of Harry deeply immersed in his book nerve-grindingly irritating, the snatched it away from him. "What is it you find so fascinating?" she wondered, flipping the book to its cover.  
  
"Hey," said Harry in surprise. "What'd you do that for?" He reached out to reclaim his book, but Hermione held it out of his reach.  
  
"_All You Need To Know About the Dark Arts_?" read Hermione skeptically. "Really, Harry, haven't you had enough of this stuff, with all those extra courses they're making you take? I'd think you'd be sick of it by now."  
  
Harry sniffed in a pompous way as he succeeded in seizing his book again. "For your information, McGonagall told me to read this. She's quizzing me on it this Monday." He made an annoyed sighing noise as he turned back to his book.  
  
Hermione started giggling.  
  
"What?" he snapped, not looking up.  
  
"You sound like Percy," she told him, still laughing.  
  
Harry's head shot up, a look of utter disgust and repulsion evident on his features. "Do I really?"  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
He sat straight up and threw his book to the table with a slam that made the second years' heads pop up and their laughter to skip like a scratched CD.  
  
"Okay, that's it," said Harry in a final sort of way, getting to his feet. "I'm done studying."  
  
"But what about McGonagall's quiz?" said Hermione, suddenly a bit serious. "I was kidding, Harry. You really should study, McGonagall will be mad—"  
  
"Ah, to hell with McGonagall," said Harry with a swipe of his hand in a dismissing sort of way, causing their enraptured audience of second years to gasp in shock. Harry glanced up and saw their scandalized faces. "C'mon, Herm, let's get out of here. I always hate it when people stare at me." He emphasized his last sentence so that the second years would hear. They all quickly looked away.  
  
Harry grinned triumphantly at Hermione, who shook her head pityingly. "Harry, Harry, Harry, terrorizing younger students. What's gotten into you?"  
  
Harry merely raised an eyebrow. "Well, are you coming or not?"  
  
"I don't know," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "I really do have all this reading to do…"  
  
"Reading can wait." With that, he bent down and grabbed her arms, pulling her to her feet. "This cannot."  
  
"Is that so?" she asked, in a tired sort of voice. "Where exactly are we going?"  
  
He'd grabbed her wrist and started to pull her, protesting, towards the portrait hole. "For a walk, and yes, it's so."  
  
"A walk? A walk where?"  
  
"You'll see," he told her, giving her a mischievous grin as he pushed his way through the hole, yanking her along with him.  
  
The second years' eyes followed their progress, and as soon as the hole closed up behind them, they began to discuss the famous Harry Potter's love life behind his back.  
  
The usual.  
  
**Alicia Spinnet:**  
  
As soon as the Fat Lady's portrait had swung into its original position (she was immersed in a gossipy conversation with Ianella Dippet), Harry pulled Hermione down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower.   
  
"Harry, where are we going?"   
  
He merely grinned, ignoring her query. "Close your eyes."  
  
Hermione crossed her arms, and shook her head. "No. There is no way in blazing blue hell that I'm going to be wandering around the dark halls of the school guided only by your whims and your two-hundred-twenty eyesight."  
  
In response, two navy-sweatered arms crept around her waist. "Why? Don't you trust me?" was the query from behind her.  
  
_This is a complete injustice, Harold James Potter,_ Hermione thought. _It's against the law to whisper sentences like that in such a breathy voice, while holding me at such a close range that my heart might die out._  
  
"Yeah, I guess....." is what came out of her mouth instead.  
  
"All right." The arms tightened. "Go on, close 'em."  
  
Hermione did as she was asked; at that moment, she would have gladly blown off every one of her N.E.W.T.s if it meant that she could continue leaning against The Boy Who Lived and keep inhaling the appealing scent of his cologne. _Gucci_, she mused. _Somehow, I think he's wearing a free sample._  
  
"Okay, we're all set," Harry said quietly. "Let's go. I'll steer," he added mischievously.  
  
"I was hoping you'd do that," Hermione replied teasingly. "Being that I can't see and all."  
  
"Stop talking, and start walking."  
  
*  
  
"Look."  
  
Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes. "Um..... Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What is supposed to be so intrinsically fascinating about the door to the Astronomy Tower?"  
  
Harry cringed inwardly.   
  
_Hermione's right, you really do have terrible eyesight. Way to go, Potter, your attempt to impress your bookish Aphrodite have gone awry once again, this time thanks to the detriment of a slightly outdated eyeglass prescription,_ a little voice in his head (which eerily reminded him of Rob Schneider) mocked him.  
  
_Shut up!_ he mentally screamed.  
  
_No, no, no, that's not it_, his psychological Richmeister taunted. _You know what it is? You were too damn preoccupied with having your arms around her that you completely forgot to open the door. How disgustingly romantic._  
  
_Maybe, maybe not,_ he retorted silently.   
  
The little voice chuckled. _Riiight. You know, I've gotta feel for you, kid. You're trying with her, you know that. I'll help you out with this....._  
  
"Um, yeah," Harry found himself saying. "See, I never knew that-" he pointed at the upper-right-hand corner of the door- "Pansy Parkinson did _that_ to Draco Malfoy."  
  
_Nice save,_ the voice congratulated him.   
  
Hermione laughed- _Good sign_ was the comment from the peanut gallery.  
  
"You didn't know that? Harry, you've really got to catch up on your gossip." Hermione rolled her eyes. "He was only bragging about it to anyone who'd listen for weeks."  
  
"Sorry if I don't room with Lavender and Parvati," Harry replied. "_My_ roommates have better things to talk about."  
  
"I can only surmise. With 'Dean Thomas, Ladies Man' in there, some of the subjects brought up in the seventh year boys' dorm might make for interesting 'Dear Forum' letters. Better things my foot."  
  
"Hermione, since when have you been this sardonic?"  
  
"Since my parents sent that contraband Muggle television that you were referring to earlier." Hermione grinned wickedly. "I suppose all those anti-media hounds were correct-- television _does_ cause irreversible damage to the psyches of teenagers. Sometimes I'm so damned cynical that I could slap myself."  
  
He squeezed her tighter. "No, no, no. You're actually much more enjoyable this way. Really."  
  
"Really," she echoed. "So. Did you drag me up here just to show off the graffiti on the door or what?"  
  
"I don't know, did I?"  
  
She pulled away teasingly. "Stop being a smart-ass."  
  
"Too late," he replied, pulling her back. "Dare I speculate as to what the 'or what' meant."  
  
"You tell me, Mister Rooms-With-The-Walking-Hormones," she retorted.  
  
_All right, kid, what's the deal?_ Rob was back again. _Are you going to take her in there- the most notorious make-out spot for seventh years in the school, by the way, Romeo- show her that nice, romantic view, and kiss her? Or are you going to chicken out? Again?_  
  
_Would you be quiet?_ Harry yelled. _I'm trying to think here._  
  
Suddenly, Harry's reflection and Hermione's impatient waiting were interrupted by a sudden _thud_ from inside the tower.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Hermione asked in bewilderment.  
  
Harry shook his head. "I have no idea."  
  
Moments later, Hermione's question was answered when a loud, pronounced "Oh, _Draco....._" echoed from inside.  
  
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, both faces registering the same mix of astonishment, amusement, and disgust.  
  
"This has the potential to be majorly disgusting," Hermione commented quietly, grabbing Harry's arm. "Let's get out of here before we hear anything that could cause our brains to leak out of our ears."  
  
"Okay....." Harry acquiesced, disappointed that his plans had been foiled once again.  
  
Hermione stopped in mid-walk at the tone of his voice and his reluctance to move forward. "Hey, whatever it was can wait, right?"  
  
Harry nodded, reluctantly allowing himself to be pulled back to the common room. "Yeah, I guess."  
  
_Yeah..... telling the love of your life how you really feel about her- before you have to fight the ultimate battle between good and evil. Sure, that can wait. That'll keep,_ Rob snickered.  
  
Harry was too dejected to answer.  
  
**Margret Ferran:**  
  
Later that evening, Hermione sat at her regular table in the common room, trying to finish the homework she should have finished in the library before Harry started flirting- no, talking- to her. 

Did she think Harry had been flirting? Darn, _why did she keep doing that!?_ Well, whatever the reason, she had to stop thinking it. Despite the fact her feelings about her raven-haired best friend were a good deal more than "just friends" status, she wasn't about to tell him. It would completely ruin everything! But just because she wasn't going to tell him didn't mean she had to stop dreaming about him. She let her eyes wander across the room to where Harry was sitting, talking to Ron, and moving his hands through the air- obviously showing him a Qudditch play, and launched into her favorite Harry daydream- the one where he proposed. She had just gotten the dream Harry on one knee when--  
  
"Dreaming about Harry again?" asked Lavender Brown, who was sitting at the table next to her, showing Parvati Patil some new nail polish she'd gotten from her Mum. Hermione snapped her head around "No! Of course not! Why would I do a thing like that!?" Lavender and Parvati just looked at each other knowingly, and then went back to their nail polish. Hermione herself didn't dare return to _her_ previous activity, so she returned her eyes to her book. But she wasn't about to get any work done. Instead her thoughts drifted to a few months ago when her entire world got turned up side down...  
  
Had it all started only two months ago? It seemed like years. Yeah, she and Harry still did their unique form of flirting, but in the back of their minds they still had heavy loads bearing down on them. Hermione sometimes got lost in it all and a review of events might be nice.....  
  
It had been a crisp winter day a few days before the rest of the students got back. Hermione had been studying in the library as usual. She had been looking for a book on the shelves when her finger trailed across of a thin book. She must have seen it a billion times but had never registered the title. Now when she did her eyes widened in surprise. The title on this thin book was _Potters: Through the Generations_. Hermione snatched it up in an instant, went back to her small table, and began reading. By the time she finished the book it was almost noon. It must have been enchanted she later thought. It looked thin but it had taken her a three hours to finish. It had been chock full of information about the Potter family. She had to show it to Harry immediately!  
  
Hermione took of to the common room, leaving her things behind. When she arrived in the common room she was relieved to see Harry hadn't taken off for lunch. She was so excited that Harry's welcoming smile didn't make her swoon and get weak at the knees.  
  
She slipped the book behind her back and said teasingly, "I've got something that you'd like to have..."  
Harry looked up his eyes conveying the message that he was agreeing to banter and use a bit of minimal physical force to get what Hermione had behind her back. "Is that so? May I see it?"  
  
Hermione backed up slightly. "Now why would I give it to you?"  
  
Harry took a step forward, so that he was close enough to grab whatever it was. But he clearly was going to try to get Hermione to hand it over. "Besides," as he would say later to Ron, "It was the perfect opportunity to put my arms around her or at least touch her." Ron would roll his eyes. "I would like to see or use or _read_ whatever it is."  
  
"So you think it's a book?" she said, still teasingly.  
  
"Oh, yes," Harry said, preparing to launch himself at her.  
  
"Well-" Hermione was cut off as Harry jumped at her.  
  
The scuffle lasted about five minutes, with Harry coming out the victor. He stared at the thing in his hands for a second, and was about to open it when the portrait hole opened. In came McGonagall. She gave a disapproving glance around, taking in the signs of a fight. Then she said pointedly, "Dumbledore would like to see the Head Boy and Girl in his office." Her tone implied that these two hooligans could not be the people that were graced with the title of Head Boy and Girl.  
  
Hermione stood and straightened up immediately. Then she stated, "We'll be there immediately. What's the password?"  
  
Harry also smartened up as the professor gave the password (Mars Bars), gave a last puzzled glance around the room and left. Harry picked up the book and the two took off to Dumbledore's office.  
  
When they arrived at Dumbledore's office Hermione said the password and the two proceeded in. Both were wondering why he had called them to his office. Both were hoping that it would simply be regarding their Head Person duties. Both knew that most likely, it wasn't.  
  
When they got to the top of the spiraling staircase they took their seats. Dumbledore wasn't there. He came solemnly in a moment later. He looked at them gravely and then started talking.  
  
"Harry, a letter arrived for you today."  
  
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look that clearly said, "he called us to his office for _this_?"  
  
Dumbledore continued, "It arrived in a most spectacular way. A large black hawk delivered it. A hawk named Hedes."  
  
Hermione eyes grew large at this and she asked, "Voldemort's delivery bird?"  
  
Dumbledore looked pleased that Hermione was aware of Voldemort's delivery system. "Yes, Hedes is Voldemort's delivery bird. Hedes delivered a message from Voldemort to Harry." Dumbledore took out of his desk a small globe. In it, it seemed, were swirling dark masses of clouds. Dumbledore handed the globe to Harry who took it with quivering hands. The second Harry's hands touched it the globe opened around the middle. A sickly, evil green light came shining out of it along with a high pitched cackling voice that was new to only Hermione. It was the voice of Lord Voldemort, formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.  
  
The voice said: 

"Ah, Potter, my most worthy foe. I have decided that this has gone on too long. You are a blemish on my otherwise perfect record. But I am always one to be fair, this time I challenge you to a duel. We will have it the day after you graduate. Two fully trained wizards that have been enemies all their life facing each other for the last time. Yes the last time. The duel will be to the death- yours. And if you don't accept what is about to happen to your precious Dumbledore will happen to your dear friend Hermione."

  
All at once, the globe disappeared, Dumbledore slumped forward on his desk, Harry screamed an obscenity, and Hermione fainted.  
  
**Someone the First**:  
  
"Hermione? Helloooo? Anyone home?"  
  
The voice sounded vaguely familiar and seemed to echo throughout the hollows of her mind..... she pulled herself out of her deep reverie of thought to find herself staring into two emerald green eyes close to her face. Very close.  
  
She started, knocking her books off the table. She pushed her chair back, but a leg snagged on the carpet and the next thing she knew was that her legs were up and her head was down and there was a book covering her face.  
  
"Shit," she moaned, pushing the book away. The whole common room was roaring with laughter. Parvati and Lavender were beside themselves, their nail polish long forgotten on the table, propping each other up by leaning one back against the other; otherwise they would have been on the ground along with Hermione.  
  
She knew her face was no longer the color of a very tan peach; it was a tomato now.  
  
"Er...um..." Harry's lips were in a tight line as he tried hard not to laugh, but the mirth in his eyes was so clearly evident that he might as well have been guffawing as loudly as the rest of them.  
  
He held out a hand to Hermione, but she refused to take it, scrambling to her feet on her own. She set her chair upright and snatched up her book. Her bottom was sore and her spine felt as if it had had a head-on collision with a truck.  
  
Pulling together all the daggers she could muster, she sent them flying at everyone in the common room through her eyes and their laughter slowly diminished into quiet chatter.  
  
_That's better now,_ she thought to herself, rubbing her head.  
  
Lavender and Parvati were both the color of strawberries and gasping for breath as they attempted to kill their laughter. It was a hopeless case as they collapsed back into giggles seconds later.  
  
Raising her head with dignity, Hermione resumed her seat, brushing her bushy locks out of her eyes to deliberate Harry as he took the seat beside her.  
  
"What do you want?" she snapped, angry at him for startling her.  
  
"Do I really repulse you so much?" he asked, pulling his face into a hurt expression.  
  
She frowned, immediately feeling awful, but then she caught the twinkle in his eyes and hit his arm with her book. "What do you want?" she asked again, more forcefully this time.  
  
"Need help with this stupid Transfiguration homework," he said shortly, holding his books up for her to see.  
  
"Ah, the ickle Head Boy is having difficulties?" she teased. "Hmm, I'm beginning to wonder if my previous accusations have merit, Harry."  
  
He grinned. "Okay, okay, I admit to it with Luvers, but--"  
  
"_WHAT?!_" Hermione practically shrieked.  
  
Parvati and Lavender stared at her with wide eyes for a moment before falling back into helpless giggles.  
  
Harry laughed. "I was kidding, Hermione." He paused. "It only happened once."  
  
"_WHAT?!_" she cried again.  
  
Harry shook his head. "She cornered me, Herm. What could I do?"  
  
"You--_slept_ with Professor Luvers?" gasped Hermione in disbelief.  
  
"Only once!"  
  
Her mouth fell open. "Harry Potter!"  
  
Harry burst into laughter, unable to hold his sincere expression any longer. "I'm kidding, Hermione. Do you really think I'd sleep with that tramp?"  
  
Her eyes still narrowed in suspicion, she opened her mouth to say something but Harry continued and cut her off.  
  
"Now, McGonagall, on the other hand--"  
  
Hermione's eyes practically bulged out of her head at this statement. "Excuse me?"  
  
He grinned. "Kidding, Herm. You can be gullible sometimes. It's almost like you're jealous."  
  
Hermione changed the subject quickly back to helping him with his homework, but not before Harry noticed the blush that painted her cheeks.  
  
And he couldn't help but smile over her head at it.  
  
**Margret Ferran:**  
  
Hermione finished helping Harry with his homework, but since she was desperately trying not to think about the teasing she would have to suffer through when she went to her dormitory and trying to prevent another incident like the one that happened earlier, she didn't notice the fact that Harry was trying to catch her eye. She also failed to notice the soft, romantic music that Harry's wand was emitting. Occasionally they engaged in their usual banter, but mostly Hermione was trying to explain how the "Cagnis spell" (which changed the appearance of a metal) differed from the "Cagnos spell" (which revealed objects that had the Cagnis spell on them).  
  
After she finally felt her mission was done, she went back to her book, this time actually reading it, and Harry started reading _Up and Coming Qudditch Players_ (which Hermione suspected had a few pages on Harry in it). The whole time she couldn't shake the idea someone was looking at her...  
  
When she finally retired to her room Lavender and Parvati (who were still giggling helplessly) teased her mercilessly, as she had suspected they would. Hermione just rolled her eyes and climbed into bed, drawing the shades as she did. As she drifted off to Dreamland, a thought struck her that made her sit up suddenly. 

What would she do if she didn't tell Harry how she felt before The Duel (as she had started thinking of it) and Voldemort killed Harry? She didn't think she could live with herself if he died without knowing... She had never seriously considered telling him. It had always seemed like she had all the time in the world. Now she realized she didn't- she had until the end of the school year.  
  
No one knows when Hermione fell asleep that night, but when she did she had the most terrifying nightmare in her life- it even beat the one where she stood watching Hogwarts burn to the ground, and she couldn't do anything to help. In her dream she was standing on a battlefield. She was clean, and wearing white robes, while all around her, people were dirty and weeping. She distantly recognized some, but others were completely unfamiliar. She felt propelled to walk, so she started forward. Her steps were long and graceful, completely unlike her own. As the skirt of the robes swished around her ankles she felt a sense of foreboding settle around her. She felt as if she didn't want to go to where she was going, but she had to go.  
  
Suddenly her foot hit something. The propulsion to go forward dissapated. She had gotten to where she was going. But where was she? She looked around, and then she looked down. There, at her feet, was Harry. But Harry was dead. Or was he?  
  
As she fell to her knees, Harry's eyes opened ever so slightly and he whispered ever so softly, "Why didn't you love me, Hermione?" She tried to say she did, in fact she was screaming "But I do! But I do!" at the top of her lungs, but he just kept saying, "Why didn't you love me Hermione? Why didn't you love me? Why didn't you love me, Hermione? Hermione? Hermione?"  
  
She was being shaken awake, she was still screaming, "But I do!", and Harry's voice was still saying "Hermione?". She opened her eyes and found she was looking in to Harry's. She sat up, realizing it had been a dream, and then collapsed into him, sobbing. As his arms slid around her she sobbed "It was so horrible, everyone was crying but me, and then I ran into something, and it was you, and you were dead, and then I realized I forgot to tell you-" She cut herself off just before she said "I love you".  
  
Then she realized Harry wasn't listening. He was stroking her hair and murmuring "Shhh, It'll be all right." So she just cried into him, completely ignoring the stares and whispers from the others who had heard her screams... and hoped that Harry's words would turn out to be true.  
  
**Someone the First:**  
  
Harry hated sleep. It was a trait most uncommon in teenagers, but clear and heavy on Harry. Sleep was an evil, despicable thing that allowed dreams and worries to creep into Harry's would-be light and easy mind.  
  
Yes, yes, who needed sleep?  
  
So he'd taken to sitting up in the common room all night, staring into the fire, in hopes of skirting the dreams that he knew would come if he fell into the soft volumes of blankets in his bed.  
  
"You coming up, Harry?" Ron had asked that night.  
  
And Harry had replied, as always, "No."  
  
Ron'd just shaken his head sadly, having given up on trying to coax Harry to bed, and receded up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, leaving Harry sitting, alone, in the common room.  
  
He eventually fell asleep; he always did. He hated himself for it, but he needed sleep, no matter how restless it was with the horrible nightmares that came with it.  
  
The day was the best time for Harry: light, happy, with a twang of depression and despondency. The night was evil and cold, whispering horrors to Harry's already aching mind, telling him he was soon to die.  
  
No wonder Harry tried to fight the moon.  
  
Harry had awoken with a start from a surprisingly dreamless sleep to find himself slumped down in an armchair, surrounded by the dark common room; the fire had already burnt out.  
  
He'd sat there for a few moments, trying to gather together his wits, his sleepy body begging for more rest. But something had woken him. Something was bothering him...  
  
He jerked bolt upright as words broke the silence in his mind and deep contentment: "But I do!"  
  
_Hermione?_ he wondered sleepily, pushing himself to his feet. _Is she in trouble?_  
  
Almost on their own, his feet led him over to the foot of the stairway that led up to the girls' dormitories. He'd never been there; he wasn't supposed to go up there, after all.  
  
But Hermione needed him and she was way more important than stupid rules, so, before he knew it, he found himself at the top of the winding staircase and peering down a dark corridor lined with doors and pictures. Just like the boys'.  
  
So that would mean the 7th year girls' room would be at the end of the hall...  
  
Sure enough, when he'd reached the doorway, he saw "7th Years" carved into it and, without a second thought, pushed his way inside.   
  
His mind registered three beds just like the boys', Parvati and Lavender pushing away their curtains and rushing over to the third bed right in front of him, and a shrill voice screaming, "But I do! But I do!" before his legs swept him swiftly over to the one occupied bed. His hand reached out and jerked aside the curtains to find Hermione crying in her sleep and thrashing at her blankets.  
  
Parvati and Lavender crowded around the bed.   
  
"What are you doing here?" asked Lavender, suddenly realizing who and what he was. "You're a guy, you're not supposed to be in--"  
  
But Harry ignored her and reached out to gently shake Hermione awake. She jerked upright, her eyes snapping open, and stared at him wondrously before collapsing in sobs, still crying, "But I do! But I do!"  
  
"Hermione?" whispered Harry softly, gently holding her in his arms and stroking her hair.  
  
"It was so horrible, everyone was crying but me, and then I ran into something, and it was you, and you were dead, and then I realized I forgot to tell you-" she choked out, her tears wetting the front of his robe.  
  
Harry didn't care; it just felt so nice to hold her in his arms. He smoothed her hair delicately. "Sssh, it'll be alright."  
  
Parvati and Lavender just stared.  
  
"What?" he snapped at them over Hermione's head.  
  
"You're a _guy_," said Parvati unintelligently.  
  
"No duh," said Harry sharply, rolling his eyes.  
  
They continued to gaze stupidly at them before Parvati let out a shrill giggle and turned around, grabbing the arm of Lavender's nightdress. She hurried away, pulling Lavender with her. Harry heard her say, "Harry Potter's in our dorm, Lav," giggle, "and he's in Hermione's _bed_."  
  
Lavender seemed to find this hysterical and they both giggled like crazy.  
  
I still think giggling should be made illegal, thought Harry irritably, reached out one arm to pull Hermione's bed curtains shut to block out their laughter.  
  
**Alicia Spinnet:**  
  
Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have been thrilled to have Harry holding her as close as he was currently; however, these circumstances were far from ordinary, and the emotion she was experiencing was closer to shame.  
  
_He's got to be thinking that I'm the most insecure, babyish person in the world,_ she mused through her diminishing sobs. _He's gone to hell and back without a single complaint. I, on the other hand, have one nightmare, and look at me! I'm clinging to him like he's a freaking life preserver._  
  
_Well then, Miss Head Girl, wouldn't the logical solution to this dilemma be to let go of the boy?_ her Mind's Eye (which bore a bizarre resemblance to Janeane Garofalo) reminded her sardonically.  
  
_I suppose you're right,_ Hermione thought, _but it's so nice here..... having him hold me like this, I don't often get the opportunity to keep him at such a close proximity....._  
  
_What, not taking enough field trips to the Astronomy Tower? You want close proximity, that's close proximity._  
  
"Never mind, never mind," Hermione muttered aloud, extricating herself from his grip.  
  
Harry peered at her with a curious expression. "Never mind what?"  
  
_Oops....._   
  
"Nothing, nothing," Hermione replied quickly, smiling at him weakly and standing up. "Nothing."  
  
Harry joined her beside the bed. "Hermione, that's not a 'nothing' sort of situation," he told her in concern, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Bad Potions classes, mishaps with your hair-- those are 'nothing' situations. Waking up in the middle of the night, yelling in terror-- that's not a 'nothing' situation. Come on. You know you can tell me anything."  
  
_Okay, buddy, I just had a nightmare in which you were dead and begging me to love you, something I've been doing for the last few years. By the way, since we're so near a bed, why don't we use it for its intended purpose?_ Hermione thought sarcastically. "Um....."  
  
"Actually, you could start with explaining your interesting choice of nightwear." Harry now seemed to be suppressing a laughing fit.  
  
Groaning inwardly, Hermione glanced down at her attire, knowing full well what she'd find. The gray tank top wasn't in question, but--  
  
_When you have a nightmare, and the boy you love comes to see what's wrong with you, it's a bad idea to be wearing his old boxers,_ the small voice chuckled.  
  
"What? You gave me these things two years ago, complaining that you'd outgrown them! Besides, they're comfortable." Despite her seemingly confident statement, Hermione's cheeks were reddening in embarrassment. Being caught sleeping in Harry's old boxers-- the maroon pair adorned with tiny flying Snitches, no less-- had been enough of a reality check to pull her out of the horrors of her dream.   
  
"Yeah, I know that, seeing as how I wore them," he replied, laughing.  
  
"Shut up. You're wearing practically the same thing." It was true; his bathrobe had fallen to the floor, revealing a blue tee shirt and plaid boxer shorts imprinted with dancing broomsticks. "Do I get to make any snide comments about the broomsticks, or do I save them to tell Dean later?"  
  
"Don't bother. He's got a pair with lipstick kisses, though, if you're still up to the guttermind challenge in the morning."  
  
Hermione shook her head. "Dancing broomsticks..... you, of all people....."  
  
"Shut up," he said, tackling her on the bed and proceeding to tickle her mercilessly.  
  
"Stop! Auugh!" Hermione choked out through her giggles. "Harry, you know that Parvati and Lavender are probably leaning into the keyhole, trying to catch everything? Do you have any idea what they're going to think we're doing?"  
  
"Let those two think whatever they want, Herm. No one makes comments about my boxers and gets away with it."  
  
"Please don't tell me that your roommates get the same treatment."  
  
Harry stopped to concoct a decent comeback; Hermione seized the opportunity for a counterattack.  
  
"AAACK! HERMIONE, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"   
  
Anyone walking by the door to the 7th-year girls' dorm would have thought that two people had accidentally overdosed on Cheering Charms, or were engrossed in some clandestine activity. They then would have stumbled over two giggling girls, both straining to hear the exact events transpiring in the room.  
  
Deep in the recesses of Hermione's mind, a tiny voice sighed. _There's no better cure for the creeps than laughter, I suppose._  
  
_You've got that right,_ Hermione thought, as she settled back against the pillows in exhaustion.  
  
Stretching out next to her, Harry propped himself up on one elbow. "So," he said in a half-whisper. "Are we ready to talk or not?"  
  
**Someone the First:**  
  
"No," said Hermione, looking everywhere but his eyes, feeling suddenly subdued again, "we're not."  
  
Harry gave her a half-smile. "Aw, c'mon, Hermione," he said, giving her a puppy-dog look, "you can tell me anything."  
  
"No, I can't. My throat won't permit it. Someone's cursed me."  
  
His face etched in sudden concern, Harry reached out and touched her arm. "Who? Who cursed you? Are you all right?"  
  
Hermione smiled weakly. He could be so dense sometimes. "I was being sarcastic, Harry."  
  
He pursed his lips, furrowed his brow... stayed frozen in that position for a moment... and then poked her stomach, causing her to giggle and writhe away from him. "I knew that."  
  
"Psychic, are you?" asked Hermione, grinning at him as she folded her arms over her stomach so her wouldn't have anywhere to poke her.  
  
Head still propped up against his arm, Harry nodded, staring down at Hermione's bedspread. His finger traced over the worn pattern, green eyes seeming to retreat to the back of his head in thought.  
  
"Harry?" Hermione said uncertainly.  
  
He jumped, coming back to the present, and fixing a penetrating stare upon Hermione's face. She now wished she'd left him in Dream-Land.  
  
"What happened in the dream, Herm?" he asked softly. He reached out and took her hand, weaving his fingers through it. "Why won't you tell me?"  
  
A silence fell over them as Hermione had a rabid battle in her mind. They both stared down at their intertwined hands, a point of connection that sent warmth and tingling through both of them (though neither would admit the other had that type of control over them).  
  
Finally, she cleared her throat. Harry looked up, gripping her hand tighter. And Hermione told him about the dream, carefully leaving out the parts where Harry had asked her why she hadn't loved him, and where she had answered "but I do!"  
  
When she was through, she took a breath and looked expectantly at Harry.  
  
"Well?" she asked.  
  
He glanced up at her, puzzled. "Well what?"  
  
"What do you think?"   
  
"I think you had too much caffeine before you went to bed, that's what I think."  
  
She might have taken him in earnest if it hadn't been for the twinkle in his eyes.  
  
"Harry, I'm serious. What do you think?"  
  
"I think I should be getting back to my dormitories."   
  
"Harry..."  
  
"I'm serious!" He bent, kissed her hand with a great flourish, stood, stretched, and then turned back to her. "Try and get some sleep, Hermione," he added seriously. He reached out and gently touched her face. "I mean it."  
  
She rolled her eyes, but obediently climbed back under the covers.  
  
Harry took her bed curtains in his hand, gazing at her steadily for a moment. He opened his mouth to say something--  
  
"POTTER! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN THE GIRLS' DORMITORIES?"  
  
Harry whirled around to see none other than Professor McGonagall glaring furiously at him from the door, flanked by Hermione's no-longer giggling roommates, and, behind them, he saw a whole swarm of other girls...  
  
**Margret Ferran:**  
  
Harry's mind went blank except for one thought- that this was not good. The next thing he was aware of was having his hand grabbed and practically being dragged down the stairs, through the common room (which had almost the entire male population of the Gryffindor tower in it), then through the Hogwarts halls. They, thankfully, were empty. He didn't think that the story would fail to leave the tower, not with the two biggest gossips in the whole school being eyewitnesses.  
  
Amazingly, Harry's thoughts weren't on himself. They were on Hermione, and how embarrassed she was going to be. It was only then that he realized that Hermione was next to him being dragged along by an almost rabid McGonagall, and her face was almost as red as a tomato. The look on her face was unreadable- at least to him.  
  
Anyone that understood facial expressions would have seen that it was a complete mix of shame, embarrassment, confusion, and surprisingly a bit of merriment. The whole situation _was_ slightly amusing. The Head Boy being caught in the Head Girl's bed at approximately 2 o' clock in the morning. Then she groaned. Snape was going to have a holiday. A jolly holiday, at that. She would _never _live this down.   
  
McGonagall stopped and muttered, "Cherry Whizzes." The trio stepped on the revolving staircase and started up to Dumbledore's office.   
  
Dumbledore was there when they arrived. He was looking serious, even though that sparkle in his eyes had not been extinguished. McGonagall left with "I believe I'll have them to tell you what they've done."  
  
Dumbledore turned to his Head Girl and Boy delinquents. "So, tell me, what was Professor McGonagall so steamed about she was clomping about the school at 2:00 in the morning?"  
  
Harry looked at Hermione, who nodded to him, then to Dumbledore before answering "Well, sir, I was in the common room when I heard someone screaming. I recognized it as Hermione's voice, and I guess I wasn't thinking, 'cause I went up to her dorm to see what was wrong. I just wasn't thinking." As soon as he finished he cast his eyes to his lap.  
  
Dumbledore did not seem satisfied with this answer, "Miss Granger, why were you screaming?"  
  
"I was having a nightmare, Professor," she answered quietly.  
  
"About what?"  
  
Hermione thought to herself, _How many times am I going to have to relive this thing?_ before answering, " I was in a field, wearing white robes. All around me people were crying over bodies. Some of the people seemed familiar, but others were complete strangers. Suddenly, I felt propelled to go forward, so I did. I knew I didn't want to see what I was walking to, but I had to. Then I ran into something, and the compelling feel went away. I looked around, trying to see what I had been walking to, but didn't see it. Then I looked down. There was Harry. I thought he was dead, but when I fell down he started asking me something. I was answering out loud, I guess. That was what Harry heard."  
  
"Do you remember _what_ Harry was asking?"  
  
Hermione thought. As much as she hated lying to Dumbledore, there was no way she could say what Harry was asking. "No," she answered trying to keep her voice from shaking. She was an awful liar, and hoped Dumbledore wouldn't notice. Then she felt those x-ray eyes looking at her.   
  
"Do you suppose that there might be something you need to tell Mr. Potter before his battle with Lord Voldemort?"  
  
Hermione's eyes widened and she looked up quickly "_No_! I mean, of course not! What would I need to tell Harry" A nervous giggle escaped and she glanced at Harry. He looked somehow crest-fallen. What was that about? She couldn't stand to see Harry upset so she looked at Dumbledore. Did he look _amused_? Did he find this _funny_? Apparently he did, because you could see he was just barely holding back a chuckle when he sentenced Harry to a detention and 20 points from Gryffindor.   
  
As the two left the office, Hermione looked back. Did he know? Of course he did. You could tell just looking at him. As she walked back to the tower she made a promise to her self- she _would_ tell Harry she loved him before he left, no matter what.  
  
**Someone the First:**  
  
Whispers followed Harry everywhere that next Monday. It was so very much like his first day of school at Hogwarts that he kept checking himself to see if he wasn't eleven. But, no, he was seventeen; tall, still rather lanky, and there seemed to be something fuzzy on his cheeks.  
  
When he and Hermione had returned to the common room, it had been full of Gryffindors. Everyone started cheering as soon as they entered the portrait hole. Harry only caught a few sentences as he and Hermione tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to convince everyone nothing had happened.  
  
"It's about time!"  
  
"Aww, it's the Head Couple!"  
  
"The model students sleeping with each other!"  
  
All this blotted out Harry's feeble protests of, "We didn't—"  
  
And Hermione's, "We are not the Head Couple!"  
  
But their red faces seemed to convince everyone of something different.  
  
So that was why, two days later, everyone was still catcalling as they sped by, and Ron was hurrying along in his best friends' haste, stuck in the middle.  
  
It was by awful luck that they had Transfiguration first thing that day, speeding up the confrontation Harry dreaded almost more than Snape's. Hat pulled down low over his face, he made sure Ron sat in the middle of the table so he wouldn't be next to Hermione. It's not that he wanted to sit so far from her, but if he wanted to skirt McGonagall's wrath, he knew he'd better keep a distance between himself and the Head Girl.  
  
He didn't hear a word McGonagall said through the whole lesson; but he couldn't help but notice how her beady eyes seemed frozen on their table, and she kept calling on them for answers; it reminded Harry so much of Snape it was scary.  
  
In the end, he failed horribly in turning a box into a pig (it didn't even turn pink), and was ready to make a quick escape as soon as the bell rang. But this was impossible, as when its sound finally did chime through the room, McGonagall called out sternly to his retreating form, "Potter! Granger! A word! Now!"  
  
Groaning inwardly, he headed to her desk so slowly. He felt weighed down by lead as he moved, Hermione at his side. Ron grinned at them as he swept out of the classroom, waving cheerily.  
  
Harry rolled his eyes at his back.  
  
"In my office. Now," said McGonagall sharply.  
  
Harry exchanged one very worried look with Hermione before following her through the door that led into McGonagall's office.  
  
"Sit." McGonagall pointed to two seats in front of her large wooden desk. The door slammed shut behind them. As they sat, McGonagall marched to her desk and plopped down heavily.  
  
She regarded them with bright, angry eyes narrowed to slits through her square glasses. "So…" she said icily. "Soooo…"  
  
On the brink of panic now, Harry glanced at Hermione wonderingly; but she seemed to be avoiding all eyes, and was staring into the fire at her side.  
  
"He let you off easy, did he?" snarled McGonagall. Her eyes flashed dangerously. "He didn't talk to you, did he?"  
  
"Er…" said Harry stupidly. Now he was avoiding her eyes too.  
  
"I'll have you know that I will not have such behavior! Especially not in my own House! By the Head Boy and Girl!" Her nostrils flared and she somehow reminded Harry of a rampaging bull. "Rule-breaking! I can only stand so much! And this is beyond anything I would have expected of you!"  
  
Harry couldn't take this. She was insinuating they'd done much more than they actually had. He couldn't have her believe that. "We didn't do anything—" said Harry desperately.  
  
"Is that what you think, Potter? You think having—having—" McGonagall paused, sputtering, "—you think having—it isn't anything?"  
  
"What?" Harry wondered, genuinely confused. "Having what?"  
  
"You know what I'm talking about!"  
  
His eyebrows knitted together in bewilderment. "What?"  
  
"You know!" said McGonagall furiously, obviously trying to avoid use of the word in her office.  
  
But all she received from Harry was a puzzled face, and she felt as if she might blow up in exasperation.  
  
"_Sex_, Potter!" McGonagall exploded. Her face flushed at having said such a word in front of students. "We do not allow sexual relationships at Hogwarts!"  
  
"But we weren't having sex!" said Hermione sincerely, suddenly joining the conversation.  
  
"Ah, you weren't, huh, Miss Granger?" barked McGonagall, rounding on her now too. "I'm not a fool! What else would Potter be doing in your bed in the middle of the night?"  
  
"She was screaming!" Harry cried. "I was worried—"  
  
"I wonder why she was screaming, Potter!" yelled McGonagall, rising from her chair. "Ha! You admit it!"  
  
"No no, not in that way!" said Harry belatedly. "She was having a nightmare—"  
  
"DUMBLEDORE MAY FALL FOR THIS RIFFRAFF BUT NOT ME!" McGonagall shrieked. "I'D BE RIGHT TO DEMOTE YOU!"  
  
"But—we weren't—"  
  
"You're wrong—"  
  
"We had our clothes on!"  
  
"Ask Lavender! Ask Parvati!"  
  
"Harry's not even my boyfriend—"  
  
"We've never even kissed!"  
  
McGonagall was beyond hearing. So caught up in her anger, she failed to consider their arguments and continued to scream at them.  
  
**Alicia Spinnet:**  
  
"Inappropriate-- horrible example-- how _dare_ you--"  
  
After about fifteen minutes, Harry's mind had been totally numbed by Professor McGonagall's angry rants-- any protests from Hermione or himself were drowned out by their Head of House's superfluous statements.  
  
Harry tried to send Hermione an eye roll, but it was futile. She had long since stopped arguing with McGonagall and was now concentrating on looking anywhere but at him.  
  
_This would be a perfectly hysterical situation if it weren't so damn serious,_ he thought. _If this goes on much longer, I've got a feeling I'll be handing my Head Boy badge over to Draco Malfoy....._  
  
Finally, McGonagall had to stop (probably to catch her breath, something she hadn't done in a good half-hour).  
  
"I don't quite know what it was you two were thinking, if you were at _all_, or with _what_," she said evenly. "But I'll have you know that if _I_ were the head of this school, you two would be on the Hogwarts Express heading home faster than you can say 'Quidditch'. Something you're suspended from for the next month, Potter."  
  
Harry couldn't believe his ears. "But Professor, it's the final match against Slytherin! The last one of the year-- the Cup--"  
  
"Clearly you should have thought of this _before_ you decided to storm the girls' dormitories at such an ungodly hour," McGonagall shot back. "And as for you, Miss Granger, I can guarantee you that I'll be owling your parents to let them know about your behavior. _Honestly_."  
  
Hermione's face fell momentarily-- Harry hadn't thought it to be possible for one such person to look as miserable as she. "Yes, Professor."  
  
McGonagall surveyed both of them malevolently. "Good. Now get out of my office. I don't want to take the liberty of undermining the Headmaster's authority, but keep in mind that any further infraction in the rules will result in detention for both of you. It happens again, and you're expelled. Out."  
  
Wordlessly, the disgraced students exited the office and subsequent classroom.  
  
"I don't believe this, she didn't even listen to us, I can't get over-- Hermione?" Harry had suddenly realized that he was ranting to an empty hallway.   
  
"Hermione?" There she was, walking away. "Hermione?" He ran down the hallway and cut off her path.  
  
"Hermione, why aren't you speaking to me?"  
  
Her cinnamon-brown eyes, usually so warm, had cooled to a frosty oak. "Harry, are you entirely thick? Do you know what people would say if they saw--"  
  
"Hermione, I don't give a damn what people would say," Harry interrupted. "They're all a bunch of mindless gits anyway. You and I both know that."  
  
"It doesn't matter. Our reputations have been tarnished enough anyway. It's a good thing my parents are on holiday in Venice, or I'd be dead by now," Hermione retorted, trying fruitlessly to get around him. He, however, wasn't moving.  
  
"What reputations? Herm, I can safely say that we'll be leaving this place in a month, provided that I can put off mortal peril for that long. And then, who knows?" Harry stared at her, his gaze never wavering. "You know, you've been my best friend for seven years, and I'm not about to stop speaking to you just because a bunch of idiots think we're sleeping together."  
  
"Harry, do you have to say it _aloud_?" Hermione hissed. "People are going to get ideas....."  
  
Harry groaned. "Now who's being totally thick? If people don't have ideas after what's been spread around, then they obviously don't have _brains_. And as for getting in trouble..... Dumbledore believes us. Sure, we might get detention, but I don't think for one minute that we'd get expelled."  
  
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Harry, you sound almost like you're _okay_ with this whole fiasco!"  
  
"You know what?" Harry asked, his voice oddly strained. "Maybe I am."  
  
Hermione dropped her books. "_WHAT?_"  
  
"I said, maybe I am," Harry repeated slowly, placing one hand tentatively on the small of her back, drawing her closer to him. "Maybe I don't care what people are saying about us. Maybe we should even _listen_ to them. Some of them are bringing up a hell of a point."  
  
"And what," Hermione asked softly, reaching up and resting a hand on the back of his neck, "is that?"  
  
Seven years of restrained affection could be felt by both of them, as the waters of unrequited love pushed against twin dams, filling the silence created by Harry's non-response to Hermione's inquiry.  
  
"Harry, what is it?" she repeated. "I want to hear you say it."  
  
But indeed, Harry couldn't say it. He couldn't bring himself to verbalize the intense, raw emotions that had been coursing through his brain for as long as he could remember. Instead, he painstakingly drew her closer, bending his head down-- he could feel her other hand snake around his neck-- she was on her tiptoes-- her lips brushed tentatively against his--  
  
"WHAT IS THIS?"  
  
Professor McGonagall had exited her office, and from the looks of it, they were in a whole lot of trouble….  
  
**Margret Ferran:**  
  
Two weeks later rumor were still buzzing in the halls. The story was getting outrageous. Parvati and Lavender were the main culprits behind the worst rumors. If you listened to them, things like what happened that one night happened on a regular basis in the seventh year Gryffindor girls' dorm.   
  
Hermione had become a recluse in the library, only coming out to go to classes and to go to sleep in the dorm, going in so late that there were no people up anymore and waking early enough that no one was up.   
  
Harry on the other hand was gritting his teeth and bearing the rumors. Ron stuck by him, defending both Harry and Hermione's honor. But even Ron, the dedicated best friend had his doubts that Harry's and Hermione's feelings to each were all platonic anymore. He had noticed the stares, the sighs and the longing glances, and knew what they meant. He himself had been the one executing them in their fourth year when he had a brief crush on Hermione. A slap on the face had gotten rid of _that._  
  
The most torturous place of all was Potions, where Snape mocked the two with pleasure. Then, of course, there were Slytherins on every side making sarcastic (or according to them, witty) comments. Hermione partnered with Neville, instead of Harry as she usually did, while the aforementioned male partnered with Ron.   
  
The two were pointedly ignoring each other, and a few gossips felt guilty about breaking up such a great friendship. They were greatly in the minority. Most of the female population were very happy about Harry's sudden lack of a female companion and were happy to fill her place. Harry was having none of it. Hermione was irreplaceable, a friend in a blue moon. Not even Ron could fill the gap that losing her had made. Maybe he could have as a friend, but never as the girl he loved.  
  
Harry now reckoned he must have imagined the moment where Hermione's lips touched his, even though it had resulted in another half-hour lecture from McGonagall. Had she always been that narrow-minded? But he still felt an all to unfamiliar tingle on his lips when he relished in the moment. He knew the moment was real, but he didn't know what it meant... Was it possible that Hermione, that perfect vision of beauty, could even love him a smidgen as much as he loved her?  
  
Hermione had properly convinced herself that it must have been a dream. But a little nagging thought that she never would have let McGonagall interrupt the moment in a dream. And then of course, there was that tingling... Could that kiss have been real?  
  
**Someone the First:**  
  
_"Snow falls, rain drops, life stalls, then stops."_  
  
_A gentle, warm voice swirled about her, fluffy and soft like blankets and pillows on a cold, winter day. Darkness pressed against her, but not the cold, oily kind: a sympathetic, loving kind, one that whispered softly to her weary mind, "Sleep. Just sleep."  
  
Of course, she didn't sleep. She wasn't that kind of person. She did the complete opposite and struggled to sit up.  
  
"No! Don't!" the darkness warned. "You don't want to see what the light holds!"  
  
Struggled, pushed, gasped, cried… And then she was sitting up, and her eyes were open, and the warming darkness fled, coldness dropping over her like ice water.  
  
"He's here, he's gone, don't fear, go on."  
  
He's here? she wondered. Who's here? Where's here?  
  
Here seemed to be a dark, cold forest. Icy rain splattered through long, bare limbs and branches, soaking her to the bone. The only sound was the trickling rain and that soft, lulling voice:  
  
"Open your eyes, see the light, crimson skies, the biggest fight.  
  
Get to your feet, go ahead, feel the heat, save the dead."  
  
Such a depressing song, she thought as she pushed herself to her feet. Every inch of her skin was frozen, and there seemed to be needles sticking into her feet. She now wished she'd listened to the darkness, wished she wasn't such an obstinate person.  
  
She rubbed her arms with numb, wet hands, catching a real glimpse of her surroundings: cold, barren forests, seemingly never-ending. She was barefoot and she wore a simple, white gown, speckled with mud. Her hair hung in loose, bemired tangles, framing her pale, bemused face.  
  
"Do you see it? Can you feel it? Go on and be it. Go on and heal it."  
  
Heal what?  
  
"Look ahead, follow the light, save the dead, put up a fight."  
  
True to the words of the song sung by an invisible someone, a light suddenly pierced through the gray ahead of her, lighting a path through the iced brambles and fallen, dead leaves and branches. Nothing better to do, she stepped timidly forward, a biting, dully aching feeling spreading through her frozen body.  
  
Arms crossed over her chest, she strode forward, skipping over sharp areas, and sinking into the muddy.  
  
"Don't let it fool you, don't be a twit, the dark will lull you, don't follow it."  
  
This is so incredibly freaky it's almost normal, she thought, eyes darting this way and that. She followed the light, never straying from its path. Though it felt cold and lifeless, the eyes that glared at her from the darkness seemed far less inviting.  
  
"Monsters, evils, dwell in the dark. They possess the evil mark.  
  
"Loving, nature, is the light. Don't give up, it has the might."  
  
Why am I doing this? she thought. Where am I going?  
  
And it was then that she found her answer.  
He lay in a circle of white, shining light, the origin of her path. As soon as she stepped within the rim, the path behind her blinked out, and she found herself surrounded by darkness. But her eyes, mind, body, soul, were not upon this thought or fear; they were upon the still figure that lay before her.  
  
He looked so calm, so peaceful. Eyes shut, hands crossed over his chest that rose and fell with each and every steady breath. He floated just above the desolate forest floor, safe, for now, from the darkness.  
  
"He's safe for now, but he won't always be. Floating on a cloud, above history.  
  
"He needs to know, you have to say, tell him so… Just one more day."  
  
She stared, blinking back tears, at him, slumbering easily.   
  
"What am I to do?" she asked pleadingly of the voice. "What? How?"  
  
She saw a smile in her mind's eye, a warm, knowing smile, before the singing returned for a last verse, sung a sweetly as all the rest, knowing everything about her:  
  
"He's here…he's gone... Don't fear…go on."  
_  
Hermione opened her eyes to find herself snug in bed, warm all over. But she felt cold. She felt wet. She felt feeble… The dream had been so vivid. It had felt so _real_. And she remembered it. Every word.  
  
She threw back the covered, rolled out of bed, bare feet smacking loudly against cold floorboards. It was night, probably the middle of it; the moon sent a slanting, bluish glow across the floor from the narrow windows. She strode, never ceasing, across the room, acknowledging the fact that Lavender and Parvati were sound asleep and that it was what McGonagall would have considered an "ungodly hour." But she didn't care.  
  
She knew one thing, one thing that kept repeating itself, singsong, gentle, loving throughout her mind: _"He's here, he's gone, don't fear, go on."_  
  
**Alicia Spinnet:**  
  
_I can't do this,_ Hermione thought. _Not just yet. After what we've both been through over the past few weeks, it would be utterly and entirely selfish of me to burst into his room and admit my undying love for him.  
  
Ugh, that sounds so cheesy. Where's my white dressing gown and jeweled necklace, I wonder? I feel like I'm the main character in a rejected romance novel. The kind that rich old ladies pay companies to publish. Here I am, running about an old English castle at night, searching for my lost love. Of course, I know exactly where he is, but that's not the point…..  
  
Perhaps I'll just laze around the Common Room for a while. It'll be a hell of a lot easier to think down here than up in the dorm-not with Lavender and Parvati giggling to each other, wondering if he'll be returning tonight. Those two are really going to give the nursing home attendants a laugh.  
  
If any of us live that long.  
_  
Pale shards of moonlight danced across the puffy armchairs and cozy couches of the Gryffindor Common Room. A quick glance at her watch told her the time- 11:27- as she strode to her favorite seat. It faced the window, and provided the perfect vantage point to view the grounds below. Hermione plopped down in it with a heavy sigh.  
  
Unfortunately, someone was sitting in it.  
  
"Hey!" she yelled, at the same time as the chair occupant yelped, "Hermione!"  
  
Turning around, she was met by two emerald-green pinpricks in the darkness.  
  
_Oh, great. This is just dandy,_ she thought, shifting to the armrest. "Harry? What are you doing?"  
  
"I think I could ask you the same question," he replied, raising an eyebrow.  
  
She sighed. "I was just coming down here to think….. about some things."  
  
"Great minds think alike." He yawned, leaning against the armrest that now supported her. "Can't hear my own mind, what with Dean raving about Lavender and all."  
  
"Oh, really? Raving as in blackmail material?" Hermione grinned slightly.  
  
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see that little gossip's reputation ground into the dirt," said Harry. "God only knows she deserves it. But, unfortunately, he's only describing- in complete, sickening detail, mind you- her physical attributes, as is expected from him."  
  
Hermione snorted. "What reputation?"  
  
"Actually, I was going to say 'what physical attributes?', but that works, too."  
  
"Oh, you!" She hit him with a throw pillow. "I can see why you left."  
  
"I can only surmise as to why you've abandoned your usual post," he commented dryly. "Dare I ask what the subject of the night is in the 7th Year Girls' Dorm?"  
  
"You've got three guesses, and the first two don't count." She groaned, pulling her legs to her torso. "When the hell is this going to end?"  
  
"Knowing Dear Abby and Ann Landers? Never," he answered disinterestedly. "You do realize that you're about to fall, you know."  
  
"I've never been one for great balance." Hermione straightened her back against the chair. "You know that."  
  
Harry surveyed her in amusement. "There's something I don't know, and I'm sure you can set me straight."  
  
"And that is?" Hermione asked, though she thought she knew.  
  
"Why, all of a sudden, are you talking to me?"  
  
_Oh, great. I guess I have no choice in the matter now, do I?_ "Well, it's not as if the school gossips can see us together at this moment, can they?"  
  
He sent her a disapproving glare. "You've been avoiding me just because you're afraid of what people will think?"  
  
"Honestly?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"No." _Now I'm really in for it…..  
_  
"Why, then?" he asked, eyes searching her for the answer before she could say it.  
  
"I- I- I don't know if I can say it," she stammered quietly, looking down.  
  
Harry leaned over and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Hermione, you know you can tell me anything, right?"  
  
"Harry, I can tell you _almost_ anything, but there are some things that are better left unsaid."  
  
"Such as?" he queried, his gaze unwavering.  
  
"If I told you," Hermione replied slowly, "it wouldn't be unsaid anymore, would it?"  
  
He looked to be deep in thought. "What if….. I were to tell you the things that I've always thought would be better left alone?"  
  
Somehow, somewhere inside her, she found the strength to nod in agreement.  
  
He took a deep breath. "Hermione, you know you're my best friend. That's a given. But there are a few things that you don't know, and I've been trying to hide, but it's obviously not going to work anymore. Listen." He paused; it wasn't easy for a seventeen-year-old boy to blurt things out like this without a prepared script.  
  
"Ever since- oh, I've no idea since when, I can't put my bloody finger on it, but- well, for a while now, I've had these- oh, boy, this is not easy- um, _feelings_ for you. Oh, God, that sounds so corny, and juvenile, and, hoo boy….." he paused again, not noticing the astonished look on Hermione's face.  
  
"Okay, I think I've got it now. Er, okay. Listen, Hermione, you are easily the most important person in my life by a mile. Well, yeah, okay, Ron's there too, but that's an entirely different situation."  
  
"I'd hope so."  
  
"Would you please shut up? I'm trying to spill my deepest, innermost feelings to you and you're not making it very easy."  
  
Hermione, though shocked beyond anything, stifled a smile. "Sorry."  
  
"Anyway." He drew yet another deep breath. "All right. Er, like I said, you're the most important person in my life, and I would absolutely _die_ if anything ever happened to you. When I'm around you, I feel like- well, I feel like I don't have to save the world from mortal peril, really. You've got this wonderful way of being the complete and total worrywort in every situation and just knowing that you're worrying enough for the both of us makes everything easier. Hell, just knowing that you care that much makes everything easier. You're smart, and you're witty, and no matter how much you protest that you're a walking Brillo pad, which you aren't, by the way, I'm still going to say that you're one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. Your eyes….. they just _speak_ to me, you know? You've got a great body- oh, I don't think I was supposed to say that aloud, God, now you probably think that I'm this giant _pervert_ or something, anyway, moving on before you hit me- ahem. I've spent the last few weeks in this state of complete misery because you won't speak to me, all for the sake of keeping up appearances, and I hate it more than anything in the world. It's driving me absolutely batty and I feel like a total idiot. I mean, I was way out of line in the hall the other day, doing, well, you know just after we'd both gotten hell from McGonagall, but I wouldn't take that back for anything because having your lips on mine for even a millisecond was the single most amazing experience I've ever had in my life. And I'd gladly die to do it again, because I think I'm in love with you, Hermione, and I can only pray that you've got even a fraction of the feelings for me that I've got for you."  
  
Hermione sat stalk-still at this amazing pronouncement- this was a dream. This wasn't happening. She pinched her leg, and drew her fingers back in pain.  
  
_Oh, my God….. Oh, my God….._   
  
She looked into Harry's blazing green eyes once more, and was surprised to see tears clouding them, though she could feel her own pupils welling up. She swallowed, not sure of what to say.  
  
"Er….. ditto?"  
  
Apparently, that one word was all either of them needed. Seven years of pent-up feelings broke through as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her into his lap. They sat like that for a moment, then he tentatively pressed his lips to hers.  
  
Up until that moment, both of them could very well have been convinced that they'd dreamed the whole fiasco; but once the initial contact was made, there was no turning back. The sudden release of tension was almost tangible as they held each other tighter, kissing deeper, each of them exploring the other's mouth in ways they'd never dared to imagine. Harry could sense the tears streaming down her cheeks, and Hermione was aware of those falling down his, but neither stopped for a moment in their frenzied, sudden explosion of love and hormones and panic and urgency and everything in between.  
  
Yes, this was reality, and Hermione Granger and Harry Potter were enjoying every moment of it.  
  
**Margret Ferran:**

Hermione sat curled up in Harry's arms. At the moment, she was thrilling at the tingles going up and down her back and he was running his hand through her hair. Now a casual passerby (Not that there were any in the Gryffindor common room at that (as McGonagall puts it) un-godly hour might think this was a picture of sweet, and perfect young love. But if this passerby would take the time to absorb the feelings that were radiating of this supposedly perfect couple they would, besides happiness and love, sense confusion, nervousness, and worry.  
  
The happiness and love were radiating from both. Each was ecstatic that their love for one another was out in the open and returned. The love had always been there, though not sensed before, and hopefully always would.  
  
But then there were those not-so-good feelings. The confusion was in regard to these recent revelations. Who wouldn't be confused with the whole situation? It was perfectly normal. The nervousness? That was due to the fact that Hermione knew that due to the lack of her presence in the dormitory Lavender or Parvati might come down for her... and see this. That was also a fairly normal feeling, as anyone who is familiar with the rumor mill knows. But that worry, that was something no couple should ever have to feel. It was not that general for-your-own-good worrying, no, it was that vein of worrying that consisted of worrying for someone's life. That was a worry that was very relevant to these two.   
  
Hermione was trying to concentrate on the thrills going down her back, but she couldn't. Her thoughts kept returning to the fact that this might not be an option for long. In a measly two weeks Harry, the boy who she loved with her whole heart, whole soul, and whole mind, might be gone from her world forever. Why had she taken so long to tell him? Why hadn't she had the courage?  
  
Harry's thoughts were also full of worries. But, surprisingly, or un-surprisingly, he was not worrying about himself as the girl in his arms was. He was worrying about just about everything besides himself. He was worried about the battle, Dumbledore (though he didn't know why, he had a general sense of foreboding in Dumbledore's direction), he was worried about what would happen if he lost, he was worried about the possibility of Voldemort playing dirty. He was worried about what would happen tomorrow when word got out about him and Hermione, what Dean would say, what Parvati and Lavender would say, what *groan* McGonagall would say, and what all those dweeby girls who had wanted to take his precious Hermi's place would say. And first and foremost of all he worried about Hermione. Was she safe anymore? Yes, he was definitely... worried *yawn* about Hermi...   
  
**Someone the First:**  
  
It was with a sense of foreboding that Professor Severus Snape woke. He blinked in the murky darkness that was speckled with pale bits of moonlight skirting through the drapes shielding the windows. His bed curtains hung open, but he had left them shut. He stared bemusedly through the gap, trying to pick through the thick liquid in his head that had once been his brain. Sleep had the effect of liquefying it.  
  
His blankets lay twisted about his legs, tangled in his shirt, and his hair stuck out at all ends, the grease he applied no longer in place. He seemed to be sitting on his pillow; he wasn't a very organized person in his sleep.  
  
But this wasn't the aim of his sleep-muddled mind. This wasn't the puzzle he was trying to piece together. The puzzle was why he'd awoken, and why his bed curtains were open...  
  
"Tssssrrrr!"  
  
He jumped about a foot in the air, whirled about in the height of his leap, and came face to face with yellow, glaring eyes in the darkness. As soon as he landed again on the soft volumes of his bed, he scrambled to his feet, tripping over his tangled bed sheets, to fall smack on the floor, staring in horror at the eyes.  
  
It took him a few seconds to realize it was only a bird. A dark one, large and sinister, but it didn't seem to have the ideal of his death planted firmly in its mind; no, no, it had come to deliver a message, a message folded into an envelope, which it had clasped in its hooked beak.  
  
It emitted another shrill screech, jerking its head about and fluttering its wings, as if telling Snape to take the letter.   
  
He obeyed, reaching out with a timid, shaking hand, and snatching away the letter with the haste of a man frightened out of his wits.  
  
The bird immediately took flight, large wings sending a great rush of wind in his direction, and was gone in an instant. It had disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.  
  
Quivering slightly at that odd experience, Snape turned his attention to the letter he had clasped in his hand. Written crudely on the front was simply, _Read now_.  
  
His brows pulling together in bewilderment, he cautiously slit the flap, pulling the letter out of its covering. It wasn't addressed, and read:  
  
_I know about you. You thought you had me fooled? Lord Voldemort knows all. My loyal Death Eater? No, Severus.  
_  
_I've kept up this charade long enough. I spared your life because you gave me valid information, whether voluntary or not. I can see right through you. I knew Dumbledore's every move.  
  
But this is not why I'm writing this. I have a job for you, a final job. I need you to inform my friend Harry Potter that the date for our little duel is changed. I have other plans for the previous date. Tell him its next Tuesday.  
  
If you think I am writing this as a trick, you are very much mistaken. I want him to be prepared, Snape. I want him to be ready.   
  
That would prove to anyone who has ever doubted my strength surpasses the boy's that I am indeed stronger.  
  
I have plans for you, Severus, my friend. You cannot hide from me. Nagini is hungry. Since I'll be sure to destroy all that there is of Potter, I cannot feed him to her. But your body should still be intact.  
  
Yes, yes indeed.   
  
I wish you pleasant dreams. You need them, for your reality is much, much worse than it was before..._

  
And it was signed merely _Lord Voldemort_.  
  
Quaking quite dreadfully in a terror that was surprisingly not for himself, he threw on his robe and walked promptly out the door.  
  
He wouldn't disturb Dumbledore. Though he tried not to show it, the old man was growing weak and fighting death by the minute. He needed sleep. He so wanted to be there for Harry.  
  
So it was Professor McGonagall's door he knocked on. And it was she he woke. Appearing at the doorway with an ornery look pasted on her features and clutching a dressing gown to her, she snapped immediately at him, "What is it, Severus?"  
  
He simply held out the letter.  
  
Frowning in confusion, she took it with careful fingers, smoothing it open. She glanced to his face once, beseechingly, but all she received was a blank stare and glossy eyes, so she turned to the parchment in her hands.  
  
She read it quickly, frown deepening, mouth a thin line. There was no change in her demanding stance, but he noticed her hands balled up a bit, wrinkling the paper.  
  
"Have you showed Dumbledore?" she asked abruptly, looking him in the face. Like he'd expected, she took it for fact without any questions of how he'd gotten it.  
  
Snape shook his head. "He needs rest. We can show him in the morning."  
  
"Harry..." murmured McGonagall. She blinked a few times and Snape saw some tears swimming in her eyes. "We should warn him, Severus."  
  
"You don't think he needs rest too?"  
  
Minvera swept her hand through the air in a dismissing way. "He's not sleeping, I can assure you of that. Poor boy can't sleep, he's so worried. I've checked up in the common room lately, around five in the morning, and I always find him dozing fretful-like in a chair. It's too much pressure on a seventeen-year-old boy. But I am a bit shocked of his and Hermione's behavior..."  
  
In public, Snape was forced to hate Harry with a passion. In private, he admired and respected the kid. Even if he was James Potter's son. And no matter how many times he said it to Harry, he didn't actually think him arrogant. His hate for the previous Potter couldn't blind him after seven years of actual experience.  
  
"You said it before, Minerva," said Snape softly. "He's seventeen."  
  
She nodded absently, drawing her robe more tightly about herself and stepping out to join Snape in the hallway. She quietly closed the door behind her. "That poor boy has been through so much..." she murmured, turning and heading down the hall with a quick glance at Snape, inviting him to join. The letter was clutched determinedly in her hand.  
  
Snape followed.  
  
~^~  


"Harry..." said Hermione in a whisper, twisting about in his lap so she faced him, legs now dangling over the arm. She rested her arm around his shoulders like they were her armrest, and leaned back against him like he was the back of her chair. "Do you sit up here every night?"  
  
He regarded her with tired eyes, and she knew the answer before he voiced it verbally. "Almost."  
  
Her fingers danced softly on the back of his neck, brushing gracefully against the beginnings of his hair, causing him to shiver slightly against her. "You need sleep."  
  
"I know, I know..." he mumbled wearily, burying his face in her shoulder. He continued in a muffled voice. "But I hate it."  
  
"Hate what?" she asked gently, taking his face in her hands and pulling it up delicately so she looked into his eyes. "Sleep?"  
  
"Sleep. Nightmares." He closed his eyes tightly against her intense gaze. "Horrible nightmares."  
  
"What about?" Her fingers had taken center stage across his face now, brushing against soft, smooth skin, a little rougher than she remembered it to be in her fourth year when she'd kissed his cheek: he'd grown up, and she was slightly surprised to see the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks.  
  
"You."  
  
She paused her fingers' wanderings in surprise. "Me?"  
  
"Dying," he said in a constricted sort of way. "Dumbledore, too. And Ron... I know they aren't premonitions, they're too insane to be. But it's what my mind seems to think about during my sleeping hours, and it plays out horridly vivid to me." He paused and her hands skated over his lips. "It's quite difficult so sleep through that." One finger fell and slipped through the crack in his lips; he sucked on it lightly, seemingly savoring the moment.  
  
"You still need sleep," said Hermione breathlessly. She pulled her finger away and he sat back, dejected. "Especially with what you'll be facing in a few weeks' time."  
  
"Mm, believe me, I know... I know..." He kneaded his forehead. "I know..."  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered sadly, eyes oddly bright.  
  
"What for?" he asked in surprise.  
  
"For...everything...anything I've ever done to you."  
  
A slight smile tugged his lips. He slipped his arms back around her waist and pulled her closer. "Hermione," he said softly, gazing intently at her, "believe me, you have nothing to be sorry for."  
  
With that statement still ringing softly in the air, he jerked her toward him and kissed her firmly.  
  
There went those shivers again, more intense, more violent, than they'd been before, and seemed to rock her very bones.  
  
His hands had now taken to learning the steps, except they were far less prudent than her own, and traveled wherever they please on her skin. She was afraid her bones were going to break through all those shivers.  
  
There was a muffled creaking noise, and Hermione looked up breathlessly. Harry didn't bother, now taken to teaching his lips to dance as well, sliding from her lips to her neck.  
  
Her mouth fell open in horror as she saw Professor McGonagall and Snape standing in the foyer, gazing sternly at them.  
  
"Oh my God..." she whispered.  
  
At this, Harry actually bothered to glance up. When he saw who was standing there, when he saw their faces, he shocked them all by blatantly pulling Hermione tighter and kissing her harder than before, visibly using his whole mouth too.  
  
"After all my talks, after everything I told you!" fumed McGonagall, striding over to them.  
  
"What are you doing?" muttered Hermione in a stifled voice as his lips were still smothered hers.   
  
Harry didn't answer, just continued with what he was doing.  
  
McGonagall now stood before them, Snape standing off to the side, and glared angrily at them. Her hands were poised and she seemed itching to reach out and jerk them apart, but lacked the ability to do just that.  
  
"Potter! Granger! Stop this immediately!"  
  
And Harry did, pulling away from Hermione, releasing her, and she quickly pushed herself to her feet, face bright pink in the darkness. Harry just sat there idly. "Why?" he said in a soft, but firm voice. "Why does it matter?"  
  
"I told you! We do not--" McGonagall started.  
  
"We aren't having a 'sexual' relationship, Professor," he continued. "No matter what you think, we aren't. This the first time we've actually kissed. I don't care much what you think. I've waited seven years for this. I love Hermione. And don't say I'm too young to know that; when your facing death, and the only person you can think of is this one, specific person, and not yourself, you realize what love is."  
  
His eyes blazed unwavering at McGonagall, who stood sputtering, hands balled into fists at her sides.   
  
"I don't care much if I die. All I care about is that if I do die, Voldemort will still be around. And he can hurt Hermione that way. I won't let that happen. It's horrible, the dreams I have over that thought.  
  
"That is love; caring more about someone than yourself. And if you want to keep me from it in what might be the last few weeks of my life, then I hope you burn in hell." No one, shockingly, said anything to this, though McGonagall noticeably twitched. "I've not done any of the things you've accused me of. I may never even get the chance to do them. But right now I don't care if you believe me; I don't care what anyone believes, or thinks if they see me kissing Hermione. Because I love her. And when you love someone, you don't give a damn what others think."  
  
There was a silence after these words; romantic, dramatic words fumbled out a bit at having come from an inexperienced seventeen-year-old boy reading from his heart rather than a prewritten script. But they had their effect.  
  
McGonagall's mouth worked a bit, and when she finally found words, she spoke not of this extraordinary pronouncement except for simply, "Very well."  
  
She continued in a businesslike manner glazed over with regret. "Potter, that's why I'm here."  
  
Harry frowned, confused. "To hear me spill me guts?"  
  
"No. It seems you only have a week until the death you think you're facing comes..."

"What?" he wondered, eyes manifesting the bewilderment he felt.  
  
"You-Know-Who has changed the date to next Tuesday," whispered McGonagall sadly.  
  
There was a bit of tense, disbelieving silence after this announcement in which Hermione's breath audibly caught and Harry scratching his nose was intelligible.  
  
He blinked twice, quick and furtively, and that and his sudden distaste of his nose were his only outward signs of shock and unease.  
  
Cessation of sound stretched for a long, heavily weighted moment before Harry broke it by coughing slightly and saying, in a surprisingly calm voice enameled over with hoarseness, "So that's it? The rest of my life? A week?"  
  
"Not necessarily," said McGonagall in a remarkably croaky voice. "You can beat him, Potter—"  
  
"I'm sure I can," he said, getting up. "In another life." He cemented his eyes upon McGonagall's face and asked, voice still rough and blemished, "How do you know?"  
  
"He sent Hedes—"  
  
"Ah. Of course. So next Tuesday, is it?"  
  
Throat clogged with sudden tears, all McGonagall could muster was a nod.  
  
"I'd better get some sleep, then, eh?" said Harry in a strained way, stretching. "Have to bring my wits together."  
  
"That's right," said McGonagall in a whisper, eyes incredibly bright behind her spectacles. "We'll be going now, Potter." She gazed at him a moment longer, and surprised everyone by stepping towards him and giving him a quick, brisk hug. When she'd broken away, she quickly turned in the other direction and hurried to the portrait hole, but not before they heard a loud sniff and a bubbling gasp that only come when one was in tears or on the verge of them.  
  
Snape moved to follow her, but then paused, and glanced back at the Head Couple. His eyes lingered for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said softly.  
  
"For what?" asked Harry, lacking. His eyes seemed to rove the floor and his hand kept running through his hair. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"If it's of any comfort," Snape went on, eyes still fixed upon the two of them, "he knows about me, too. My death is guaranteed. Yours is not."  
  
"Then why are you apologizing?"  
  
He shook his head slowly, staring at the hole. "I'm really not evil, I really don't hate you, and now that he knows my secret anyway, there's no point in keeping up the charade of my love for Draco Malfoy…" Another beat, the portrait hole opened. "I'm sorry…Harry, Hermione…"  
  
And then he stepped out, and the hole closed up behind him, and he was gone, leaving Harry and Hermione to wander off to bed after a quick kiss, pondering on the fact that Professor Snape had called them by their first names.  
  
  
**Author's Notes:**  
  
_Narrissa (aka Someone the First):_ Sommy is going to write her author's note in third person omnipotent. You can tell what she's thinking. Isn't that grand? Sommy doesn't know what to say right now, which is odd on the Internet but perfectly normal in real life. Sommy would like to say that Mikey is slightly annoying, but in case he's actually reading this (which he isn't), she won't say anything else about that topic and his odd obessession with being issued a gun in ROTC. Sommy helped write this. Sommy didn't have writer's block ALL through it, isn't everyone proud of her? *Sommy takes a bow* Sommy is 14, for everyone who's asked her age that's reading this. Everyone's proud of her, right? LeeLee told Sommy she writes like William Golding after she said she hated his style, and Sommy finds that freaky. She can't really write like him, though, considering he's a Big Shot author while she's a puny fanfic author no one knows. Um, Sommy is rambling. But doesn't she always? Sommy actually wrote something a little angst-free. She's very proud of herself. *Sommy grins* Sommy asks everyone to please excuse all her typos, and says she hopes she hasn't infringed on anyone's rights. Sommy would like to thank Maggie for handling the mushy, romancey parts and Alicia for handling the sarcastic, hilarious parts. Sommy would like to make it clear that she doesn't own any of the characters, places, things, words, or sentence structures in her parts. She just organized the words she stole in her own, odd way that she hopes you can understand. Sommy hopes you enjoy this, and that you have a very pleasant day/night/afternoon/morning/lunch/dinner/snack/evening/midnight/whatever else it might be. Sommy now ends this with, "Thank you and good night."  
  
_Alicia:_ Alicia/Sue Spinnet would like to dedicate this fanfic to the following people:  
  
To Bonne Bell, the makers of Lip Smackers, the real 'Best Stuff on Earth';  
  
to J.K. Rowling, for writing the best books on Earth;  
  
to Rich and Rowena Spinnet, for buying Alicia a cable modem (unknowingly allowing their daughter to waste even more of her time in the world of fanfic);  
  
to Reel Big Fish, for their kick-ass lyrics and awesome ska sound;  
  
to Narrissa C. Patters and Margret Ferran, for writing the rest of this damn thing;  
  
to Jeff W. Kowalzek, for accusing everyone at school of sleeping with their teachers;  
  
and to Matthew J. Zimmerman, for ignoring the outright crush that his best friend has on him, therefore inspiring scenes of sarcastic banter and unrequited teenage love. There! I said it! Maggie and Narri can stop picking on me now.  
  
Just so y'all know, I formatted this, so any SPGs can be attributed to me and not my lovely co-authors. This is what got me out of writer's block and let me finish "SSS", amigos, so there ya have it. I'm up next for writing, and I'm going to have _some fun_..... *evil grin*  
  
_Maggie:_ Maggie would like to dedicate this fic to Fat- Free Bite-Size Tostitos, any carbonated soda in existance (except grape soda), her parents (no, not due to thier love a support, but because they bought me the first HP book), her friends Caroline Marie Sacerdote and Caitlyn what-ever-her-middle-name-is Thompson (they lent me the second and third book), and who ever invented the internet.  
  
**Disclaimer by Maggie:** Now who honestly thinks that we own this stuff? You don't know? Well, in case some idiot lawyer or..... well, I don't know, reads this, here is the standard, required disclaimer:   
We own nothing. What? We DO own something? Really? What do we own? Oh, yeah. We do own some stuff. We own Hedes, the delivery bird, the funky boxers (*Alicia jumps in and screams, "The boxers are mine! I own the boxers! Damn, I'm yelling about owning underwear, I need professional HELP....."*), the book "Potters: Through the Generations", the dental floss that Mrs. Granger was going to theoretically kill Harry with, Parvati and Lavender's nail polish, the Cagnis and Cagnos spells, and Dean "Hot Lips" Thomas's lipstick kiss boxers. We might own other stuff, too.  
  
If you want to borrow it (Alicia jumps in again: "Um, why? Whoever else wishes to lay claim to the boxers must be more nutty than I am.....") you must do one thing.  
  
1) You may not be a H/R or H/D shipper, and you must come to Sommy's message board and tell us that you are using it so we make sure to read your story.  
  
We do not own any characters that are J.K.'s, any places that are J.K.'s, any previous scenarios that were referred to that are J.K.'s. We also don't own the plot (it belongs to our muses), but you may not use any part of it. We defintitly don't own our sanity. If we ever had any we lost it the second we got hooked on Harry Potter. If we somehow had some after that we definitely don't have it anymore.  
  
  


  



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